Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. "The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. But the world didn’t do that. ” “Perhaps,” she said, “I am superstitious. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. Kent say to it?" "He thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would give her to the artist," answered Gay, a little maliciously. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. " Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and forwards, as if further arranging his plans. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell.
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